


Pain of the Past

by ThePoetCerridwen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alive Mary Winchester, Angst, Caring Dean, Caring Dean Winchester, Caring Mary Winchester, Gen, Hallucifer, Hallucinations, Hell Trauma, Hurt Sam, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, POV Mary Winchester, Resurrected Mary Winchester, Seizures, Sick Sam, Sick Sam Winchester, Tortured Sam, Worried Dean, Worried Dean Winchester, Worried Mary, Worried Mary Winchester, caring Mary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 01:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8513878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePoetCerridwen/pseuds/ThePoetCerridwen
Summary: Mary whipped around just in time to see Sam clutching his head in his hands before collapsing to the floor in a heap. When he started to seize is when she screamed. Tag to 12x02, some Hurt!Sick!Sam and Worried!Caring!Dean and Mary. Two-shot. Mentions of suicide, so if this triggers you, please be careful.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my sweets, it's certainly been awhile since I've posted anything!
> 
> So this was inspired by Mary and Sam's moment in 12x02, but I personally felt it was a little lacking. That and the lack of BROMENTS BETWEEN OUR BOYS BECAUSE SAM THOUGHT DEAN DIED AND WELL NOPE GUESS HE'S BACK NOW LOL BEER
> 
> I'm sorry, it just bugged me. All I wanted was a hug, at least! Couldn't we have gotten a hug?!
> 
> ANYWAY! This fic does have more Mary and Sam moments, but there's definitely some Dean in here too. This will most likely be a two shot, and don't worry—I've got most of chapter two already written.
> 
> So please read and enjoy!

The drive back to the bunker was silent. Normally Dean would be blasting Metallica or Led Zeplin, but now, with Sam in the passenger seat next to him passed out against the window, he kept it quiet and drove around bumps in the road. Cas had easily been able to heal Sam, but that didn't mean the kid wasn't exhausted. Almost as soon as they were in the car, he was out like a light.

Mary sat in the backseat, still reeling. Her sons, her precious baby boys, were no longer babies. She stared at them, consumed with the grief that she hadn't been there. She missed out on _everything._ She wasn't there to watch them grow up, to get them dressed for school in the mornings or to kiss boo boos. She wasn't there to read them bedtime stories or to hug them and wipe their tears away. She wasn't there to watch them graduate high school, or to send them off to college.

And though she had no idea what they had been through in their adult lives, she did know that, whatever had happened, it was _bad_. She could see the look in their eyes. So deep and haunted, full of sadness and regret, flickering with the shadowy demons of their past.

Mary realized her eyes were filling with tears and quickly tried to blink them away.

She watched as Dean reached over and lightly pressed his fingers into the side of Sam's neck, checking his pulse. After a few seconds and once he was satisfied that his younger brother was still okay, he rested his hand on the back of Sam's neck and gently stroked Sam's nape with his thumb.

The action brought a smile to Mary's face. She reminded herself that things weren't all bad. After all, look at how big and handsome they'd grown up to be—and, she chuckled herself, with emphasis on "big" for Sammy—and look at how close they obviously were. Mary noticed how Dean was gruff and commanding most of the time—something to be expected from a seasoned hunter such as himself—until he turned to his little brother. Dean treated Sam so gently, half-carrying him out of that house, murmuring softly of things that Mary couldn't always make out, but occasionally she would catch a "Sammy", or "everything's okay", or "gonna get you home". Dean was obviously very protective of his little brother, and she began to wonder just how long he'd been considering himself to be Sam's guardian.

When they finally arrived at the bunker, Dean pulled into the garage and gently shook Sam awake. "We're home, Sasquatch."

Sam groaned a little and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Uh, yeah," Sam said, his voice still croaky from sleep. "Just sore. And tired."

"Well," Dean said as he got out of the Impala and circled around to help Sam up, "Let's get you into bed and you can conk out."

Dean pulled his brother to his feet and grasped Sam's elbow while he steadied himself. Mary quickly got out of the car, but stood awkwardly nearby, unsure of what to do. As soon as Sam's head cleared, Dean was walking him to his room. Mary followed behind, hating how useless she felt.

Sam pulled his jacket off and collapsed into bed, asleep in seconds. Dean pulled his shoes off and draped a blanket over him, and Mary watched it all from the doorway, her heart swelling with affection for her boys. Dean checked Sam's pulse again, pressed his hand to his forehead to check his temperature, and then quietly padded out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Mary smiled. "You take good care of him."

Dean shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "It's my job. Has been since . . ." He trailed off and the smile faded.

"Since the fire?" Mary asked quietly, her heart sinking.

"Yeah."

Mary tried to imagine that.

Ever since little Sammy had been born, Dean had loved him. Mary and John had been a little afraid that Dean would be jealous and unwelcoming at first—after all, it was a very common thing among children when a younger sibling suddenly steals all the attention. But from the very moment John brought Dean to the hospital to see his baby brother for the first time, Dean was crawling onto the bed with Mary and asking to hold him. And it wasn't uncommon to find Dean in Sammy's crib, reading comic books to him. Honestly it was a little shocking to see just how well Dean got along with his baby brother, but Mary and John had loved it.

Mary couldn't even comprehend how horrible her death must have been, for her boys to grow up hunters and for Dean to have become almost overly protective of Sam.

"Mom?"

Dean's voice snapped Mary out of her thoughts, and she suddenly realized she was crying.

She hastily wiped her cheeks. "I—" But she couldn't even speak without her voice breaking.

Dean didn't say a word, just pulled her into a hug. Mary squeezed her son tight, trying to tell herself that everything was okay now, Dean's alive, Sam's alive, _my boys are okay._

But they _weren't_ okay. They were _hunters_ for Christ's sake. And she could tell just by looking at them that they weren't your average, run-of-the-mill hunters, either—no, they had been through some _bad shit_ , so bad that she was afraid to know what it was.

And before she knew it, Mary was quietly sobbing into Dean's shoulder, feeling like her heart was slowly being crushed.

Dean just continued to hold her and rubbed her back in an attempt to soothe her. "It's okay, Mom," he murmured. "We're okay."

Oh, if only she could believe that.

* * *

_Cold. He was so, so_ cold _. The kind of cold you feel from deep inside, that no amount of blankets or heaters can chase away. He tried curl in on himself, but frigid metal encircling his wrists and ankles kept him upright and immobile._

" _Hey Sammy."_

_Sam's heart stuttered to a halt at the all-too-familiar voice._

" _Ready to have some fun?"_

_Sam opened his eyes and Lucifer's grinning face appeared before him. The Devil caressed his cheek almost lovingly. "Because I am."_

_Lucifer lazily dragged his fingers down Sam's face, down his throat, and came to a halt on his naked chest. Then suddenly, Lucifer plunged his hand_ through _Sam, shattering his chest plate and freezing his lungs in unbearable pain. Sam wanted to scream as he felt icy fingers wrap around his heart and slowly start to pull._

" _See, this is the fun part about my Cage. I can do whatever I want to you, hurt you however I please—and you can't pass out. Your nerves can't give out. You can't die."_

_Sam still couldn't move or breathe as Lucifer kept pulling his heart out, slowly, slowly._

" _It's beautiful. Don't you think?"_

_But Sam_ couldn't _think. All he knew was pain, pain, pain, pain, painpainpainpainpain MAKE IT STOP!_

" _Oh, Sammy," Lucifer cooed. "Don't you see? It will_ never _stop. You knew that when you jumped in here, dragging me with you. And since big brother Michael isn't one for playing much, well—it's just you and me for the rest of eternity." Lucifer cocked his head in amusement as he watched blood gush from the ragged hole in Sam's chest, carrying chunks of bone down his stomach and legs and pooling on the frozen metal floor._

" _Do you know what it feels like to have no heart?" Lucifer asked. "To feel that deep, gaping hole inside you? No one knows, really. Usually they die before they can find out. But you, Sammy . . . you're lucky." He chuckled. "You get to be the special one to satisfy my curiosity. Don't leave out any details, now. I want to know_ exactly _how it feels."_

_By now, Sam could_ see _his_ own heart _pounding in Lucifer's hand, still pulling and pulling and stretching muscles to their limits—_ Dean, I want Dean, where's Dean—

_Lucifer laughed. "Dean's already moved on. He doesn't need you. Doesn't_ want _you. In fact, he's_ glad _you're dead, Sammy."_

" _Nu-nno—" Sam finally croaked._

" _Oh, yes," Lucifer sneered. The hand slowly ripping Sam's heart out paused as he leaned forward. Sam shuddered in disgust as a forked tongue flickered over his ear._

" _You're_ my _little bitch now."_

_All at once, Sam felt his heart tear away from his body, and then he was drowning in agony._

* * *

Dean handed Mary a mug of coffee and sat down across from her at the conference table. "How're you doing?" he asked.

Mary wrapped her hands around the mug, savoring the warmth. She shrugged. "It's a lot to take in. You boys are all grown up . . . but it was just a few days ago when I found you in Sammy's crib, reading him _Knights of the Round Table_."

Dean gave a small smile. "I think I remember that. I—"

But he was cut off when a loud scream suddenly pierced the air. Both of their hearts dropped.

_"Sammy!"_

Mother and son tore down the hallways towards Sam's room. Dean burst in first, and froze.

Sam was sitting up in bed, unharmed, but digging his thumb into the scar on his palm so hard that Dean was afraid he'd break the skin.

"Sam?" Mary asked, heart still pounding with panic, "What happened? Are you—"

But Dean silently held up a hand to cut her off, and there was a look of realization on his face that she didn't understand. She looked to Sam again and noticed that his eyes were shining with unshed tears, and wondered why he kept furiously digging his thumb into an old scar on his palm.

Dean approached the bed slowly and sat down on the edge. Reaching out, he gently but firmly grasped Sam's wrists to still his movements. Mary bit her lip when she saw blood on Sam's fingernail.

"Sammy," Dean murmured. "What's going on?"

Sam blinked. "I—I thought I was—" his voice cracked, and he looked so scared and confused and _young_ that all Mary wanted to do was hold him, but she held herself back.

"It—it was my first day in—it was so _vivid,_ I haven't had one that vivid in—"

Dean placed his hands on the sides of Sam's face. "It's not real. Okay? Whatever you saw, _it wasn't real_. You're not there anymore."

Mary frowned in confusion, knowing she was missing something. At first, she thought that Sam had been referring to nightmares about the British bitch that had tortured him. But now . . . she wasn't so sure. This seemed deeper than that.

Sam blinked, taking deep breaths, visibly trying to calm himself down. Then he sighed and ran his hands through his hair, seeming to snap out of the haze of fear and confusion. "Sorry I scared you guys."

Dean squeezed his shoulder. "Don't worry about it."

Mary shifted uncomfortably. She felt like she should say something, but at the same time, standing there and watching the interaction between her sons, she felt as though she was intruding on something she had no right to witness.

"Just go back to sleep, Sammy," Dean was saying. "You want me to stay with you?"

"Uh—no, no, it's okay," Sam said, blushing red slightly.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. But thanks."

"Alright. Get some sleep." Dean ruffled Sam's hair as he stood, and Sam laid back down as Dean pulled the door shut behind him.

"What was that all about?" Mary asked quietly as they moved back down the hall.

Dean let out a weary sigh. "That is a very, _very_ long story that I think you should hear from Sam, when he's ready."

Mary nodded, slightly disappointed, but understanding that it wasn't Dean's place to spill Sam's past. She would just have to wait and see if Sam was willing to open up to her.

The next morning, everyone converged in the conference room to see if they could find anything on these British Men of Letters. Cas was already gone searching for Lucifer, so it was just Dean, Mary, and Sam, whose baggy, bloodshot eyes indicated he hadn't gotten much sleep. Mary saw the concern in Dean's eyes, but he didn't say anything about it.

"We're low on supplies," he commented instead as Sam sat down with a pile of books. "I'm gonna make a run, be back in a few."

"Alright," Sam nodded absently, most of his attention already on the books before him.

When Dean was sure Sam wasn't looking, he silently motioned for Mary to follow him. Frowning a little, she did so, and they moved out of the room and out of earshot of Sam.

"Keep an eye on him, will you?" Dean said quietly. "I mean, if he starts . . ." He trailed off and ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking stressed.

Mary was confused. "If he starts . . . what?"

"If he starts to act weird," Dean said, and then immediately regretted his choice of words when Mary's frown deepened. He was making Sam sound like some sort of freak.

"I mean, if he starts to feel bad," he amended quickly, "or acting like he's—in pain or anything."

"Um—yeah, of course I will, he's my son, but—what's going on? First his nightmare last night, now you think something will happen to him?"

Dean looked back in Sam's direction, and, not for the first time, Mary saw the deep, deep pain in his eyes. "Dean, what is it?" She asked, more firmly this time. She was getting scared.

He looked back at her with those bright green eyes of his. "Let's just say, that was way more than a nightmare."

With that, he turned and walked up the stairs and out of the bunker, leaving Mary more confused than ever and suddenly terrified for her youngest child.

* * *

Sam knew Dean was talking to Mary about him. He wasn't stupid.

Part of him was insulted and a little angry, but he reeled in that part of his mind and reminded himself that Dean was just worried. And besides, he knew Dean wouldn't tell Mary about Sam's time in Hell. Neither would Sam, at least not yet. He wasn't willing to dump that on his mother right away and make her feel even worse.

When Mary came back into the room, Sam pretended to engross himself even more into the books so that he wouldn't have to look at her. He didn't know exactly what was said, but he had a pretty good bet that it probably left her feeling confused and maybe a little afraid—possibly even afraid _of_ him. Either way, he didn't want to have to see the fear or pity in her eyes as she stared at him. It made him feel like spectacle in a zoo, something people came to point at and say, "Aw, look at how bad he has it. Poor thing."

Mary cleared her throat awkwardly. "So, uh, where should I start?"

Sam finally looked up. "Well—" he grabbed two thick books from the pile— "you can start looking through these records and see if you can find any mention of British or international Men of Letters. I haven't found anything yet, but I'm hoping these guys met at some point."

"Okay." Mary took the books and sat down, glad to have some regular old book research, something _familiar,_ to do.

Sam paged through the manuscript before him, looking for anything British related, but so far it just looked like records of tools and weapons the Men of Letters had confiscated from a Grand Coven temple. Sam idly turned the page, not really interested—maybe he would be later, but now wasn't the time—and stopped.

This page was covered in detailed drawings and descriptions of the witches' torture devices. Branding irons, spiked manacles, wicked looking daggers, even what looked like meat hooks—

" _You know, I'm getting bored of these things," Lucifer said, grabbing the chain to yank on the manacle around Sam's wrist. "Let's try something new!"_

_He snapped his fingers, and the restraints vanished. Without anything holding him up and because he was to weak to do it himself, Sam crashed to the floor, crying out as he landed on his injuries._

_But almost as soon as he hit the floor, Lucifer was seizing his wrist again, and suddenly his hand exploded in pain as something big and sharp and cold pierced his palm, and was forced all the way through his hand. He screamed as he was yanked up by the hook, and didn't even have time to take a breath before Lucifer was poking hooks through his other hand and through the flesh just behind his ankles, and two more through his shoulders so that his weight wouldn't tear his hands right of the hooks._

_Lucifer stood back to admire his handiwork. He smile made Sam want to throw up. He reached up to brush Sam's hair behind his ear, treating him almost like a pet. "You look so beautiful, Sammy," he murmured. "All strung up, covered in your own blood, trembling in agony . . . See, now_ this _is what I live for."_

_He conjured a dagger out of thin air, and pressed the freezing blade to Sam's lips. "Now, shall we continue?"_

" _Sam!"_

Sam jumped, eyes snapping open.

He was back in the bunker, sitting at the table with a book in front of him.

But now, Mary was standing next to him, her hand gripping his arm like she'd been shaking him, eyes wide with alarm.

Sam blinked, and realized his hands were shaking. "What—what happened?"

"I don't know," Mary said, her voice trembling. "Y-you started shaking, and your fists were clenched really hard. You didn't seem to hear me when I kept calling your name. And you—you were screaming."

_Oh, great._

Sam ran his hands over his face, burning with shame. How weak was he that looking at some pictures triggered this shit all over again? Much less in front of his mother, who wasn't even supposed to know about his time in Hell, at least not for a long time.

"Sam? Are you alright?"

Sam shakily got to his feet. "I'm fine," he tried to reassure her, but knowing it wasn't working. His voice, annoyingly just like everything else, wouldn't stop shaking. "I just—I need some air."

Mary didn't believe for one second that he was fine. His eyes were watery and bloodshot, and she could see that his hands were still trembling. When he turned around and headed for the door, she grabbed the phone Dean left her and quickly started to dial his number.

When she heard another scream, she whipped around just in time to see Sam clutching his head in his hands before collapsing to the floor in a heap.

When he started to seize is when Mary screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

Mary ran to Sam, but was afraid to touch him, for fear that it could hurt the both of them. She realized the phone was still clutched in her hand, and finished dialing Dean's number.

 

A few miles away, in a convenience store, Dean's phone rang. Seeing that it was his mother, he frowned and quickly answered. “Mom?”

 

“Dean!” Mary's panicky voice shouted. “Dean, you need to come back, now! It's Sam—he's—”

 

Dean's stomach dropped. “What's wrong?” he demanded.

 

_“He's having a seizure!”_

 

Dean's heart constricted and he felt all the blood leave his face. “I'm on my way,” he said as he dropped the basket in his hand and tore out of the store.

 

Mary dropped the phone and fell to her knees next to Sam. His face was quickly turning red, the chords in his neck painfully prominent, and his eyes were rolled back in his head. He was barely breathing, only managing to gasp in a breath of air a few times, and occasionally a strangled cry escaped him. Mary tried to place her hand on his shoulder, but he was writhing so much that he threw her off.

 

Her vision blurred and suddenly tears were streaming down her face. She felt so useless and _hated_ herself for it. She might barely know these men, but they were still her children, and she knew that in the end, maternal instinct would always win out.

 

And right now, her baby was in pain and all she wanted to do was hold him tight and take it all away.

 

Suddenly, with one final, shuddering gasp, Sam seized once more, his back arching up off the floor. Then the air rushed back out of him as he sank back down and all movement ceased.

 

Mary immediately pressed her hand to his throat. She let out a breath of relief when she felt a strong and fast pulse, but she knew the danger was far from over. What the hell could cause a seizure like this? Was Sam an epileptic? Did he have a brain injury they didn't know about?

 

“Sammy,” she said desperately, leaning over her son and shaking him. “Sammy, please, wake up!”

 

But his head only lolled lifelessly on his shoulders. When she couldn't wake him, Mary pulled his head into her lap and cradled him, not knowing what else she could do until Dean got back. The tears running down her face dripped onto Sam's, and she had to keep using her sleeve to wipe them away.

 

It felt like hours had passed when Dean finally burst through the door and torn down the stairs into the bunker. His heart twisted when he saw his little brother lying unmoving on the floor, and he almost tripped over himself in his rush to get to him.

 

He crashed to his knees next to Sam and Mary, taking Sam's face in his hands.

 

“Sammy!” He said desperately, “C’mon, don't do this to me again!”

 

Mary looked up sharply to stare at him. _Again?_

 

Dean shook his brother. “Sammy, _please._ Whatever you're seeing, it's not real. That happened a long time ago, _you're not there anymore!”_

 

Mary was becoming more and more frightened. What the _hell_ was Dean talking about?

 

Dean shook him again, harder this time. _“Sammy!”_

 

Several minutes passed, but finally Sam's eyes began to flutter. Dean cupped his cheek. “C’mon buddy, you can do it, come back to me—”

 

Seconds ticked by, agonizingly slow—then Sam _finally_ sucked in a long, ragged breath, and opened his eyes.

 

“Sammy?” Dean asked. “You with us?”

 

Sam blinked up at them. “D-Dean? . . . Mom?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean said, sounding immensely relieved, “You okay?”

 

Sam paused to think—and then his eyes blew wide and he flew into a sitting position. “Dean,” he cried desperately, “Dean this can't be happening! I can't go through this again, _I can't do it!”_

 

Mary watched him in horror, unable to understand the expression of utter _terror_ etched on her son's face.

 

“I'll only end up getting someone hurt!” Sam said as he struggled to his feet, his brother and mother quickly following suit. “I—” he clutched his head in his hands, eyes filling with tears. “Dean, if I have to do this again I think I might kill myself.”

 

Mary’s heart stopped and she gasped aloud, unable to hold it back.

 

Dean felt as though he'd just taken a knife to the heart. He knew that last time Sam had struggled with suicidal thoughts, although he never voiced them. He knew Lucifer had probably encouraged them, egging Sam on and taunting him mercilessly.

 

Sam was strong, stronger than anyone Dean had ever met in his life, although Sam himself refused to believe it. But as strong as he was . . . Dean, too, feared that if his Hell hallucinations came back . . .

 

_What if he really does—_

 

No _._

 

Dean stopped the thought as soon as it entered his head. No, he _would not_ let Sam hurt himself. They’d fixed it before, they would fix it again. Dean would make damn sure of that.

 

Mary watched as Dean suddenly surged forward and grabbed Sam's shoulders. “Don't—” he began, his voice cracking, “Don't _ever_ say that again. You hear me?”

 

Sam only gazed down at his feet as tears trickled down his cheeks.

 

“Look, we fixed this before, okay? And we can fix it again.”

 

“But how? And at what cost?” Sam asked, unsuccessfully trying to wipe the tears away. “Last time Cas lost his sanity and then we almost lost him. Hell, we _did_ lose him. It took him dying and a trip to Purgatory to get his mind back.”

 

“Well, we have all this now,” Dean said, sweeping his arm around the bunker. “Listen to me.” He moved one hand to the back of Sam's head to pull him closer. “If this gets worse—and who knows, maybe this was just a one-time thing— _we will figure it out._ Understand?”

 

Sam hesitated—but then he swallowed and nodded. “I understand,” he rasped.

 

“Good,” Dean said, pulling him into a tight hug. Sam returned it with everything he had, clinging to Dean just like he used to when he was little, when his big brother was Batman and could fix everything. And God, did both of them hope he really could fix everything.

 

Mary could only stand back and watch, a wild mix of emotions roiling inside her. Part of her felt only affection and joy for her boys—the sheer amount of love and trust radiating between was astounding. It absolutely took her breath away.

 

But another part was her grief tearing her apart. She couldn't remember the last time she saw anyone so afraid and distraught, and the fact that it was _her_ child, _her_ Sammy that felt this way . . . Her throat tasted of bile.

 

And yet another part of her was filled with fear and confusion. All these things being said—

 

_“C’mon, don't do this to me again!”_

 

_“Whatever you're seeing, it's not real. That happened a long time ago, you're not there anymore!”_

 

_“I can't go through this again, I can't do it!”_

 

_“I think I might kill myself.”_

 

_“We can fix it again.”_

 

_“Last time, Cas lost his sanity . . . It took him dying and a trip to Purgatory to get his mind back.”_

 

So what Mary knew now was that Sam was in a bad place, a _very_ bad place. Something was happening to him, something that had happened before. Something that caused Castiel—a freaking _angel—_ to go insane. What could possibly be so powerful and awful that it drove a celestial being into insanity? And on top of all of that— _dying_ and a trip to _Purgatory?!_

 

Mary was pretty sure her head was going to explode.

 

She was snapped out of her thoughts when Sam's knees suddenly buckled, and Dean had to lock his arms around him and take a half step back to avoid dropping him.

 

“Whoa, whoa—Sammy?” Dean said sharply, voice laced with concern.

 

“S’rry,” Sam mumbled into Dean's shoulder, trying to get his feet back under him. “Tired.”

 

Dean relaxed a little and began shifting Sam to pull his arm around his shoulders. Sam's head lolled, his eyes barely open, and Mary realized that the rush of adrenaline from his moment of panic must have worn off, and that the extreme exhaustion that usually accompanied seizures was quickly catching up to him.

 

Mary unfroze herself and jumped into action, rushing forward to get under Sam's other arm. Together, she and Dean managed to carry their youngest family member back to his bedroom, where they lowered him gently into bed. Dean pulled the covers over his sleeping brother, and this time the two of them stayed in the room with him: Dean sitting on the bed next to Sam and Mary in a chair on his other side.

 

Mary hesitantly reached out, her fingers hovering over Sam's forehead. She wasn't really sure whether she was . . . _allowed_ to touched him in such an intimate manner. After all, he was an adult. They barely knew each other.

 

_But he’s still my son._

 

Mary glanced up at Dean, who gave her the tiniest smile of encouragement. She felt  a little ridiculous for making such a huge deal over something so small as touching her son, but at the same time she couldn't help it. Taking a steadying breath, she gently brushed Sam's hair off of his forehead.

 

She almost jumped and yanked her hand back when Sam suddenly moved, thinking that even in his sleep he didn't want her touching him. But to her surprise and great relief, he instead leaned into her touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

 

Tears springing into her eyes, Mary began to gently stroke his hair. His reaction to her touch, his expression of tranquility as he finally slept peacefully, and the warmth of his skin had brought a strong rush of love and affection that felt as though it would fill her up and spill over. She watched him and Dean intently and, not for the first time, wished she could take all of their pain away, from the present and from the past. They'd been through way too much.

 

_They don't deserve this._

 

“Mom?” Dean asked quietly, seeing the tears in her eyes.

 

Mary didn't respond at first. She blinked hard and swiped at her eyes.

 

“I wish things were different,” she finally croaked.

 

Dean averted his gaze, instead focusing on Sam as he squeezed his shoulder. “Me too,” he murmured.

 

They were silent for a few moments, the both of them instead just watching Sam and the steady rise and fall of his chest, reassuring themselves that he was okay.

 

Then Mary finally voiced the question burning in her mind. “Dean,” she began, speaking quietly to avoid disturbing Sam, “you need to tell me what's going on. Why did he have a seizure? And what the _hell_ were you two talking about?”

 

Dean rubbed his eyes wearily. “I know it all sounds crazy, and I know we need to explain,” he said, still avoiding eye contact. “But can it at least wait until Sam feels better? It's his story, not mine, and I don't want to betray his privacy.”

 

Mary sighed and nodded. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Sam began to stir a couple of hours later. Mary and Dean said nothing, allowing him to wake up on his own time. After a few minutes, hazel eyes slowly fluttered open, and Sam gazed up at Dean.

 

“Hey sleeping beauty,” Dean grinned, “how’re you feeling?”

 

Sam began to push himself up with a groan. “Sore,” he admitted.

 

Dean reached over on the bedside table and grabbed the two pills and the glass of water he'd grabbed while Sam was out. Sam took them gratefully, and swallowed the pills down. “Thanks.”

 

“I also called Cas, and he's on his way back now to check you out.”

 

Sam nodded as he handed Dean the glass to set back down on the table and leaned back against the headboard, stomach churning nervously. He glanced in Mary's direction, and she tried to smile comfortingly, but it came out as more of a grimace.

 

The corner of Sam's mouth twisted up in a wry smile. “I guess we owe you an explanation, huh.”

 

Mary looked down at her lap. She did want answers, but now she also felt a little guilty for feeling like she was forcing Sam to share his privacy with her.

 

“You know,” she began, changing her mind, “you don't have to—”

 

“No, Mom, it's okay,” Sam said. “You deserve to know.” He cleared his throat, and then gave a nervous chuckle. “You know, I don't even know where to start . . . it's a really long, really ugly story . . .”

 

So, with Dean's help, he began to explain that the Apocalypse began when Lucifer escaped the Cage, and how he and Michael needed their True vessels in order to carry out the rest of Doomsday. Mary listened raptly, eyes wide, and she leaned forward with interest. “So who were their True vessels?” She asked.

 

“Us,” Sam said simply. “Me and Dean. Dean was Michael’s and I . . . Well, I was Lucifer's. Apparently our birth and existence had been planned since the beginning of time. This was supposed to be our purpose.”

 

Mary could only stare at him, mouth hanging open in shock. She didn't know how to even _begin_ to register what he was saying.

 

“But angels can't possess anyone without permission,” Sam continued quickly. “So they kept hounding us and trying to make us say yes for almost a year. When they figured that Dean wouldn't let him, Michael managed to find . . . a different vessel. Someone else from our bloodline. He said yes, so that was that.”

 

Mary felt like he wasn't sharing the whole story about that part, but kept her mouth shut.

 

“We couldn't kill Lucifer,” Sam was saying, “Which meant we had to find a way to lock him back in the Cage. So, I figured . . . why not let him possess me, and then _I_ jump in the pit?”

 

Mary's stomach dropped.

 

Dean was clenching his fists. “I still think we should've found a different way,” he broke in, sounding both angry and guilty at the same time.

 

“It was the only way, and you know it,” Sam said, but without any bite to his words. He turned back to Mary. “It took some planning, and we screwed up some along the way, but . . . in the end, it worked.” He shrugged, as if trying to downplay the situation. “I let Lucifer possess me, managed to take back control, opened up a hole to the pit and took a dive, carrying him with me. Michael tried to stop me, but he only ended up falling in with us. And . . . it wasn't pleasant down there. I don't remember Michael really being in the picture much, but Lucifer—he was angry. _Really_ angry. And when the Devil himself has a personal grudge against you, and you're trapped in the Cage with him . . .” He trailed off and shuddered visibly. Dean squeezed Sam's wrist comfortingly, closing his eyes, but not before Mary glimpsed a trace of a tear trying to form. She couldn't even imagine how horrible that must've been for either of them, and her heart physically ached. She was afraid she'd be sick.

 

When Sam remained silent, she wound up the courage to ask the question burning within her. “How—how long were you down there?”

 

Sam shrugged again. “Time is different up here and down there. On Earth I was gone for about a year and a half. But down in the Cage . . .” He hesitated, and Mary wondered if he was afraid to tell her.

 

“How long?” She asked again, still gentle but a little more firm this time. She _needed_ to know.  
  
Sam swallowed. “Almost two hundred years.”

 

Mary's heart froze.

 

Almost two hundred years.

 

Two centuries of constant torture.

 

In Hell.

 

By _the Devil himself._

 

_Oh, God._

 

Sam watched Mary apprehensively. Her eyes were wide with catatonic horror. Her hands were shaking and tears were beginning to fill her eyes.

 

“Mom?” He asked. _Shit shit shit, I_ knew _I shouldn't've told her anything._

 

But suddenly Mary was surging out of her chair, lunging towards Sam and throwing her arms around him. The strength of her grip shocked him as she almost crushed the air right out of his lungs. She clutched him tightly, shaking silently and Sam knew she was crying. All he could do was hug her back, trying to reassure her that he was fine.

 

_Except I'm_ not _fine._

 

Sam tried to banish that thought as he rubbed his mother's back. “It's okay Mom, it was a long time ago . . . I'm okay . . .”

 

It took a few minutes, but Mary managed to calm down and let go of Sam. She sat on the edge of the bed and wiped her eyes. “But—” she sniffled. “How did you get out?”

 

“Team effort between Cas and Death.”

 

Mary frowned. “Death?”

 

“Yeah, like the Horseman—it's a long story,” Sam chuckled. “Point is, they got me out. But I didn't exactly come out unscathed . . . The things Lucifer did to me—” he shivered and pulled the blanket further up his chest. “Basically, according to Death, I couldn't remember what happened in the Cage or some bad shit would happen. We didn't know exactly what—all we knew was that it could physically kill me, or worse. So, Death put up a wall in my mind to keep me from remembering.

 

“But it didn't last. After another long series of complicated events, the wall came crashing down, and every memory I had of the Cage came rushing in.” Sam rubbed his forehead wearily, lost in the memory of that moment.

 

“That's when things got _really_ bad,” Dean stepped in, sparing Sam from having to talk about that part. “He started having seizures and violent flashbacks. Soon those turned into hallucinations. He started seeing Lucifer, and Lucifer would . . . say and do things. He'd make him see and hear things. He was convincing him that he was still in the Cage, that he never got out, and that all of this was just an elaborate vision to torture him with. He couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't.

 

“And then he started to get sick. Like really, really sick. Lucifer wouldn't let him sleep, and when the human body goes too long without sleep, it starts to shut down. He almost died.”

 

“And I would have if Cas hadn't helped me,” Sam said. “He couldn't cure me, but . . . he could move it. So, he took on everything himself. The torture, the hallucinations, all of it. It drove him insane, too. And he would probably be dead right now if, well—” Sam huffed out a dry laugh, “I know you're probably getting tired of hearing this, but that's another long story, involving Leviathans, exploding Dick, and Purgatory.”

 

Mary's eyebrows flew up. She opened her mouth to ask, but closed it again. _I don't even want to know._

 

“The point is,” Sam continued, “He's okay now, and I'm okay. I still have the memories, but they don't affect me like that anymore. Or at least, they haven't until now.”

He suddenly looked very ill. Mary felt the same way, and she reached out to take his hand, trying to swallow past the cold lump in her throat.

 

The slam of the bunker's metal door echoed down the hallway, followed by Cas's voice shouting, “Dean?”

 

Dean leapt up, ran out of the room and down the hall towards him. “Cas!” He called.

 

When the angel spotted him, he ran towards Dean. “Where is Sam?” He demanded. “You said he had another seizure?”

 

“Yeah, this way—he seems okay now, but we're not sure—”

 

The two of them hurried back to Sam's room to see Sam sitting on the edge of the bed, Mary still next to him with her hand on his arm.

 

Cas went to stand in front of Sam, looking intently into his eyes, and Sam had a feeling he was seeing more than hazel. He placed his palm on Sam's forehead, and a strange tingling sensation flooded through him. This lasted only a second or two before Cas withdrew his hand.

 

“Well?” Dean said anxiously. “What's the verdict?”

 

Cas took a step back. “Your . . . Cage symptoms haven't simply come back on their own.”

 

“What does that mean? What the hell caused this?” Dean asked.

 

“The drug Toni gave him.”

 

“Drug? What drug?”

 

But suddenly it dawned on Sam. “She couldn't break me with physical pain,” he said thoughtfully, “So she tried using some sort of hallucinogenic drug on me. I'm not sure how it worked, but it basically showed me all my worst memories. I guess it stirred up the Cage.”

 

“Yes,” Cas affirmed. “Those memories are powerful enough on their own, but with the drug amplifying them, it was only a matter of time before they assaulted you.”

 

Dean clenched his fists, filled with fresh rage. So not only had the bitch tortured him physically, she fucked with his mind too? “I should've killed that fucking bitch when I had the chance,” he ground out angrily.

 

“Well, what now?” Sam asked Cas anxiously, feeling nauseous. “Am I gonna be okay?”

 

“Mostly, I believe.”

 

“Mostly?”

 

“Until the drug works out of your system, you will likely have more nightmares and minor flashbacks. Perhaps less violent than this one, because the traces of the drug are fading fast, but you need to be careful.”

 

“Can't you just use your mojo to flush it out?” Dean asked.

 

Cas sighed. “I wish I could, but it seems they had the drug . . . warded somehow. I'm not sure how else to describe it. But for whatever reason, my grace has no effect on it. You'll just have to give it time—maybe a few days.”

 

Sam bit back a groan. He rubbed his face wearily. “Great.”

 

Cas ducked his head. “I'm sorry I can't be anymore help.”

 

“No, no,” Sam quickly reassured him, “It's fine, you were a big help, and it's not your fault. Thanks.”

 

“Should I stay until the drug is gone?”

 

Dean started to say yes, but Sam beat him to it. “No, Cas, it's fine.”

 

Dean shot a glare at him.

 

Cas frowned at the exchange and glanced between them. “Are you sure?” He asked hesitantly.

 

“Yes, I'm sure.”

 

“Sam—” Dean began.

 

_“Really,”_ Sam interrupted. “It's okay. I'll be fine.” He looked at Cas. “You said it yourself, all I need to do is be careful and take it easy for the next few days. Besides, catching Lucifer is more important than me right now—”

 

“The hell it is!” Dean snapped.

 

“Dean. Come on. _I'll be fine_. It probably won't be pretty, but if there's nothing Cas can do anyway, then there's no point in keeping him here when Lucifer’s on the lam.”

 

Dean glared at him.

 

Sam gave him a look.

 

They stared each other down for another moment or two, and then Dean groaned. “God—okay, fine, whatever, but Cas: keep your phone nearby in case we need you again.”

 

Mary heard Dean mutter something about “goddamn puppy dog eyes.”

 

“I'll come as fast as I can,” Cas assured him, and with one last nod to them, he left the bunker.

 

* * *

 

Everyone was tense in the days that followed. Dean and Mary tried not to smother Sam, but their constant hawk eyes were beginning to grate on Sam's nerves. He felt like a freak and wished they would chill out a little.

 

But the next episode came just a day later.

 

It was early in the morning, and Sam had gone down into one of the bunker's store rooms to look for more records. Dean was already in the conference room, bent over a book, and Mary had gone looking for Sam to help out.

 

She wandered down the extensive hallways until she saw an open door with dingy light pouring out. Walking inside, she stopped in the doorway, looking around the cluttered room. “Sam?” She called.

 

Silence.

 

Mary frowned. _Wasn't he supposed to be in here?_ _Why is the door open if he isn't?_

 

Suddenly she heard a crash from across the room, and her stomach twisted.

 

“Sam?”

 

She maneuvered through the mass of shelves, trying to find the source, but it was difficult to see through all the clutter. “Sam, are you in here?”

 

A groan met her ears.

 

“Sam!” She called again, her heart pounding. Finally she rounded a corner and spotted a mop of chocolate brown hair. “Sammy!” She started to run towards him, but stopped.

 

Sam was sitting against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest and his hands clasped over his ears. He was rocking back and forth, panting and weeping.

 

Mary approached him slowly. She wondered for a moment if she should go get Dean, but quickly decided against it. She didn't want to risk leaving Sam alone.

 

“Sammy?” She said softly, crouching down in front of him. “Sammy, can you hear me?”

 

“No no _no,_ ” Sam whimpered. “Leave me alone, just leave me alone!”

 

Tears sprang to Mary's eyes and a cold knife pierced her heart at that broken voice. _He shouldn't sound like that,_ she thought. Her boy should _never_ sound like that.

 

Very cautiously, she reached out to touch him. But as soon as her fingers made contact with him, Sam was jerking away and sobbing more frantically.

 

“Don't touch me, leave me alone, _leave me alone_ , get away—”

 

“Sammy, it's me, it's Mom,” Mary said desperately.

 

Sam raised his head just enough to peek at her. But instead of relaxing, he panicked even more and tried to back away, but the wall behind him prevented him from going anywhere.

 

“Not her,” he said, tears streaming down his face, “Not again. Not her face, not her, stop it, _stop it_ , not her, not her, _not her—”_

 

Mary watched him in horrified confusion. “Sammy, what—”

 

And then it hit her.

 

_“Not her. Not again.”_

 

Lucifer had tortured Sam while wearing her face.

 

Mary began crying almost as hard as Sam. “Sammy—I'm not Lucifer,” she croaked. “I'm Mom. Your _real_ Mom. You're not down there anymore.”

 

But Sam only curled into a tight ball, keeping his hands clasped hard over his ears and shaking with sobs.

 

“Sammy, _please_ , come back to me! None of what you're seeing is real!”

 

She kept begging and pleading with him, but still, her child either couldn't understand her or didn't believe her.

 

_What am I supposed to do?_

 

She tried to think back to what Dean did to help Sam. Part of it was probably because Sam trusted him more, and knew him better than he knew her. And until a few days ago she was dead, so it was really no surprise that Sam probably forgot she was back when he was locked in his mind. But there had to be _something_ she could do.

 

Suddenly she remembered something, and on a whim, she reached out and grabbed Sam's left wrist, pulling his hand towards her. She knew that he was incredibly strong, but in this state he was frighteningly weak, because he tried to resist but was barely able to.

 

Mary held his hand, palm up, and pressed her thumb into the scar.

 

Sam kept trying to jerk back, still weeping and begging the Lucifer in his mind to leave him alone and stop wearing Mary's face. It pained her to do so, but Mary pressed the scar harder, and harder, praying to God that this would work and that she wasn't hurting him for nothing.

 

But finally, _finally_ , Sam began to go limp. He stopped struggling, still curled loosely against the wall, and falling silent except to pant heavily.

 

Mary released the pressure on Sam's palm, watching him anxiously. “Sammy?” She whispered.

 

Slowly, Sam raised his head to look at her. His eyes were watery and glazed.

 

“Mom?” He croaked.

 

Mary let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Yeah, sweetie, it's me. Are you back with me?”

 

He gazed around the room, looking dazed. “What . . . where . . . oh, God,” he moaned, burying his face in his hands as he realized what had happened.

 

“It's okay,” Mary murmured, moving closer and wrapping her arms around him. “You're okay, Sammy. I'm here.”

 

Sam squeezed her back, burying his face in her shoulder and shaking. Mary stroked his hair and continued to speak softly to him, hoping that the sound of her voice would help ground him.

 

All too soon, Sam was pulling back and trying to wipe his face dry. “I'm sorry,” he said, voice crackly from crying. “I just—I'm sorry,” he repeated, and there was so much pain in his eyes that Mary thought her heart would literally shatter.

 

“You don't have to apologize for anything, Sammy,” she said, brushing his hair behind his ear. She wiped some of his tears away with her thumb. “It's not your fault. This isn't anything you have control over, and there's no shame in that.”

 

“How?” He said desperately. “How is there no shame? I'm weak. I can barely function without these damn visions screwing up my head, and I'm powerless to stop them because I'm fucking _weak_.”

 

“Sam.” Mary shifted so that she was sitting on her knees in front of him. She took his face in her hands. “You are the exact opposite of _weak_. You took on freaking _Lucifer_. The _Devil_ _himself_. And you _won._ You took back control while he was possessing you—how many people can you name that can do that? You were willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to save the world. You were willing to not just die, but to spend an _eternity_ in _Hell_. And not just Hell—Lucifer's freaking Cage! Yes, he tortured you for centuries, and yes, you came out damaged. But you survived _._ Sammy, you _survived._ ”

 

Sam tried to look down, but Mary took his chin and gently lifted it to make him look at her. “How many people could do what you did?” She said quietly. “How many people could face Lucifer, go through Hell, come out with seizures and flashbacks and hallucinations, unable to tell what's real and what's not, and _survive?_ ” Mary smiled. “You, Sam. You, and _only_ you, could do that. Because you're strong, stronger than any demon or angel in the world. Remember, strength isn't the same thing as power, because strength holds far more value.”

 

Sam blinked at her and sniffled, wiping his eyes. He'd stopped crying.

 

Mary smiled hopefully at him. She looked deep into those beautiful hazel eyes, trying to convey everything that she was feeling, trying to share her hope and how proud she was of him, trying to raise him up out of that abysmal misery.

 

“So . . . are you good?” She asked softly.

 

Sam closed his eyes as he took a shaky breath. Then he nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I'm good. Thanks, Mom.”

 

Mary’s smile widened, and she leaned forward and placed a kiss on his forehead. She gave him one more tight, brief hug, and then helped him climb to his feet.

 

Sam sighed. “Dean's gonna freak out.”

 

“Dean will be fine,” Mary assured him, taking his hand and leading him out of the room. “Come on, you need to rest. You're about to fall over.” Already tired from a sleepless night due to nightmares, the ordeal had almost drained him completely.

 

As predicted, Dean freaked out when Mary came back with an exhausted, tear-streaked and bloodshot Sammy. His big brother mode went into overdrive, and since Sam refused to go back to bed—he was sick of staying there all the time—Dean forced him to lie down on a sofa against the wall of the conference room and made him drink “some of that girly tea you like.”

 

Sam tried to stay awake, but his mind and body was simply too exhausted. Mary watched him fight sleep with everything he had, and she finally stepped in.

 

“Sammy,” she murmured, standing over him with her hand on his shoulder, “go to sleep. It's okay, we'll wake you in a few hours and you can keep working.” If there was one thing she’d learned about Sam, it was that he hated doing nothing and that researching was almost a hobby for him. He hated sitting on the sidelines while everyone else was busy, and as much as she wanted him to just rest, she knew that he would never stand for that. Besides, having something to do later would help keep his mind off his current predicament.

 

Not that she would _actually_ wake him in just a few hours, of course. Sam was going to sleep for at least nine hours if _she_ had anything to do with it.

 

But Sam shook his head. “Don' wanna . . . don' wanna see ‘m again,” he mumbled, eyes rolling as he fought tooth and nail to keep them open. “He . . . always comes . . .” he trailed off, not even able to form a complete sentence anymore. Mary's heart ached.

 

“Sammy,” Dean said, kneeling down next to the sofa and placing a hand on the side of Sam's face, “We won't let him hurt you. If you start having a nightmare, we'll wake you up. But you need to sleep now, okay?”

 

Sam mumbled something unintelligible, and his eyes finally slipped closed. Whether it was because he chose to sleep or because he just couldn't fight it anymore, they couldn't be sure.

 

Dean and Mary went back to work, both of them sitting on the opposite side of the table relative to Sam so that they could keep an eye on him. They had to wake him a few times due to nightmares, but other than that, he seemed fine.

 

Over the course of the next few days, things happened here and there, but it was clear that the effects of the drug were fading. Sam only had one more minor seizure and a few hallucinogenic episodes, each one weaker than the last. However, the nightmares continued, and Sam was unable to get enough sleep. They had to just cross their fingers and hope for the best.

 

The only time they _really_ got scared was when the drug spiked suddenly and Lucifer appeared in Sam's waking hours.

 

Mary didn't even realize it at first. She was too focused on reading to notice Sam clenching his jaw, staring fixedly at the book before him with unnecessary focus.

 

Dean, on the other hand, did notice. He'd been watching Sam out of the corner of his eye for the past fifteen minutes. He hadn't wanted to believe it, but he recognized that behavior.

 

He closed the laptop in front of him. “Sam,” he said, “Everything okay?”

 

Mary immediately looked up at Dean's inquiry, and studied her other son to see if he was having another episode. She could tell something was wrong, but she didn't know what.

 

Sam jumped a little when Dean spoke, and looked at him with baggy eyes. He started to say that yes, he was fine—but then Lucifer popped a balloon right next to his ear and he flinched violently.

 

Lucifer laughed. “Come on, Sammy, it's my birthday!” He began to loudly sing “Happy Birthday” to himself, as if he even _had_ a birthday.

 

Mary watched, confusion and dread sinking into in her stomach. “Sam? What's going on?”

 

Sam could only squeeze his eyes shut and rub his temples.

 

“Shit,” Dean muttered. He got up and moved around to perch on the edge of the table next to Sam. “Is there anything I can do?”

 

Sam smiled wryly. “Like what?” He said bitterly. “We both know how this goes.”

 

“How what goes?”

 

Sam looked at Mary. “I'm seeing Lucifer,” he said quietly.

 

Mary frowned. “You're seeing him? What—oh. Oh, no.”

 

Sam saw the realization on her face, which was immediately followed by worry and pity. He averted his gaze. He _hated_ people feeling sorry for him.

 

“Is he . . . is he . . . hurting you?” Mary asked nervously. She felt guilty for asking questions, but at the same time she had some morbid sense of curiosity.

 

Sam shook his head. “Not really. He's just—”

He flinched again, and Mary wondered what on earth Sam was seeing.

 

Sam squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he tried to gather himself. “He just makes it hard to focus. He'll never let me rest as long as he's around, and sometimes he—sometimes he makes me see things. He likes trying to scare me.”

 

Lucifer began toying with Sam's hair. “Nah, Sammy, you got it all wrong! I’m not _scaring_ you, I'm playing with you! You know, things would be a lot more fun if you would just join in.”

 

Sam shuddered and ducked his head away, trying to escape Lucifer's hand. Dean and Mary watched with growing concern, not knowing what was going on in Sam's head.

 

Sam was starting to become irritated with their staring. “Look, just—” he stopped himself because he was about to snap angrily. He took a deep breath and said, more calmly, “I'll be fine, don't worry about me. If it escalates we can call Cas, but it's been almost a week, so it's probably just about gone now.”

 

Dean and Mary exchanged a look that clearly said, _The hell we won't worry._ But neither of them voiced this thought, instead acknowledging that Sam was feeling smothered and uncomfortable with their intense staring. They backed off to give him some space, but that didn't stop them from stealing sideways glances every few minutes.

 

Sam tried so hard to focus on reading, but twenty minutes passed and he'd only gotten through two pages. Even then, he doubted he remembered anything.

 

He wished Lucifer would shut the fuck up. And stop setting the table on fire.

 

“C'mon, Sam, why don't we just get out of here?”

 

Sam kept his eyes on the book.

 

“They don't even care about you, you know. Dean's just afraid you'll scare Mommy off. Rightfully so, too. She's afraid of you.”

 

Sam swallowed and tried to ignore Lucifer, but those words had struck a chord in him.

 

Lucifer climbed up on the now-charred table and sat cross-legged in front of Sam. “You know I'm right,” he smirked. “Just _leave_ already. They'll be better off without you.” He grinned. “Besides—” he moved closer to Sam's ear, “how do you even know any of this is real?” He whispered.

 

Sam froze.

 

“Dean's supposed to be dead. Mommy too. Don't you think it's a bit . . . _odd_ that you got _both_ of them back? And in the same day? With _zero_ consequences?”

 

Sam felt bile rise in his throat. _Oh, no._

 

Lucifer snickered lowly. “See, you made _all of this up_ because you just couldn't cope with Dean's death.” He leaned back with a lewd grin. “Though I have to say, conjuring up _Mary_ surprised even me. I mean, come on, do you _seriously believe_ that she's back? After, what, thirty-something years? For fuck’s sake, Sammy!” The Devil began laughing so hard he tumbled into the floor.

 

Sam finally lowered his hands into his lap so that Dean and Mary couldn't see, and rubbed the scar on his palm. Lucifer flickered and Sam had a moment of hope—but then Lucifer started laughing and remained visible.

 

“You can't get rid of me,” he said with a predatory grin. “I'm here for _life._ However long—or short—it may be. Because you and I both know the only solution to this mess you've created.”

 

Sam rose abruptly from his seat, startling Mary and Dean.

 

“Sam?” Dean said.

 

“I need some air,” Sam said, and began walking out of the room.

 

“Whoa whoa—Sam!” Dean got up and ran after him. “Whatever Lucifer's doing—”

 

“Look, Dean it's fine,” Sam snapped. “He's not telling me to do anything, okay? I just—I need a minute.”

 

Dean hesitated, but raised his hands and backed off. “Okay. Okay, just—”

 

“I know,” Sam said irritability. “Don't listen to him, don't run off anywhere, I've got it.”

 

“Sam—Sammy, wait—” Dean made to grab his arm, but Sam growled and shook him off, stalking up the stairs.

 

The door slammed behind him, and Dean shut his eyes and ran his hand down his face.

 

Mary left the table and approached him. “Are you okay? Is Sam?”

 

Dean weakly threw his hand up. “I don't know,” he said. He didn't seem angry or hurt over the way Sam spoke to him. In fact, he only seemed more concerned. “He's lying.”

 

“Lying?”

 

“He said Lucifer's not telling him to do anything. That's a lie, I know it is.”

 

Mary shifted her feet nervously. “What do you think he's telling him to do?”

 

“Probably trying to get him to hurt himself, or run away or something. It wouldn't be the first time. But it's not Sam's fault,” Dean said, suddenly desperate as he turned to face Mary. “He’s not in the right state of mind, he didn't mean to do those things last time, and he's not usually like this—”

 

Mary put her hand on his arm to stop him. “I know,” she reassured him in a soft voice. “Dean, I know. I'm worried too. But maybe we should give him a little space, at least for now. He's probably feeling smothered.”

 

Dean glanced back up at the door, as if trying to look through it to see Sam. He blew out a breath and nodded. “Yeah. You're probably right. Let's just get back to work.”

 

* * *

 

Outside, Sam was pacing back and forth, trying to ignore Lucifer, who kept following him.

 

“Sammy, look, they’re not real and you know it,” the Devil said matter-of-factly. “But you could join them for real, y’know. Permanently this time.”

 

Sam whipped around to face him. “Shut up,” he snarled.

 

Lucifer gasped in mock astonishment. “He spoke to me!”

 

Sam growled and turned his back again.

 

“Oh my _Dad,_ Sam, just kill yourself already! You'll be doing the world a favor! Because it's only a matter of time before you fuck up and hurt people again. You always do.”

 

A cold lump sat in Sam's throat.

 

Lucifer stood right behind him and leaned into his ear. “You know I'm right,” he hissed.

Sam shuddered. Shaking Lucifer off, he began pacing again.

 

_What if he's right, though?_ A small voice said.

 

_No,_ Sam interrupted that train of thought. _No, Dean’s real. Mom too. They_ have _to be._

 

_But are they?_ The voice persisted. _He has a good point. There's no way you'd get them both back without any consequences. And if this is all one big hallucination—remember what happened last time? You really will end up hurting someone in the end._

 

Sam's heart sank.

 

“Are you finally admitting I'm right?” Lucifer said from behind him. He slowly turned to face that infuriating smirk.

 

Lucifer sauntered closer and reached around behind Sam. He felt his gun slide free from where it was tucked in the back of his jeans. Lucifer brought his arm back around and held the gun out to Sam, who stared down at it with a strangely glazed expression.

 

_Maybe he's right._

 

“Take it, Sammy,” Lucifer murmured. “You can end it all, right here, right now. You can finally join them, forever.”

 

Slowly, as if in a trance, Sam took the gun out of Lucifer's outstretched hand. For a moment he just held it, staring at the cool metal in his hands.

 

_He's right,_ he thought again. _He's right_.

 

He clicked the safety off.

 

* * *

 

Dean glanced at his watch. It had only been about ten minutes since he'd seen Sam. He knew he and Mary had agreed to give him some space, but with Sam in this state, his worry was spiraling out of control. There was a dark feeling in his gut that he didn't like at all.

 

“I'm gonna go check on Sam,” Dean finally announced as he rose from his seat.

 

“I'm coming with you,” Mary said, following suit. She, too, had an awful nagging in her stomach that something was wrong. The two of them trooped up the stairs, and Dean was the first one out the door.

 

Dean climbed the concrete stairs and spotted Sam standing several feet away, with his back to them. “Sam? It's getting late, why don't—” he stopped when his brother turned around, his gun in his hand. “Sammy?”

 

Sam blinked, and looked down at the weapon as if he didn't know how it got there. He raised his eyes, suddenly looking scared and confused. “I—”

 

“Sammy,” Dean said, holding his hands out and trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Give me the gun. Please, Sammy, give it to me.”

 

Sam obediently held it out, and Dean snatched it away, clicking the safety back on and tossing it to the side. “Sam, what the _hell_ were you doing?” He demanded, sounding more scared than angry.

 

Sam shook his head. “I—I don't know—he said—you can't be real, there's _no way_ you could be real—”

 

Mary was sure she was going to burst into tears. If Sam was about to do what she thought he was about to do—what if they hadn't come out soon enough? What if they’d been too late?

 

Dean cursed. Approaching Sam, he wrapped an arm around his shoulders, guiding him back inside. “I'm calling Cas,” he muttered.

 

* * *

 

For the next few hours until Cas arrived, Dean and Mary never once let Sam out of their sight. Sam himself was still in a daze. How had things escalated this quickly? Wasn't the drug supposed to be fading? Last time it had taken months for the hallucinations to go this far, so why was it happening so fast now?

 

Either way, what if he’d been hallucinating his family this entire time?

 

Lucifer still hadn't gone away, of course. He had seated himself on the armrest of sofa next to Sam, still telling him, in great detail, about how naïve he was and how he should just hurry up and off himself before he caused any more trouble.

 

Mary sat on Sam’s other side. She tried to take his hand, but he pulled away. Dean stood in front of them, looking agitated.

 

“You said ‘you can't be real’,” Dean began. “Who is 'you’?”

 

Sam twisted his hands together nervously in his lap. “You and Mom,” he said, so quietly that Dean was barely able to make out what he said.

 

“Me and—” suddenly Dean blanched as the implications of Sam's words hit him. “What makes you think that?” He asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

 

“Because—because you're both supposed to be dead,” Sam croaked, keeping his eyes downcast. “Because there's no way I would’ve been able to get both of you back in the same day with zero consequences.”

 

Dean stared at him. _Oh, shit. Oh shit shit shit._

 

It seemed history was repeating itself. Because just like last time—how were they supposed to fight this? How do you convince someone who thinks you're a hallucination that you're real?

 

Not knowing what else to do, Dean dropped to his knees in front of Sam, taking his scarred hand into both of his own. “We're real,” he said, pressing his thumb into Sam's palm. _“We're both real._ I never even died. I didn't have to. All Amara and Chuck needed was a Dr. Phil session, and then they set things right and left together.” He began to apply more pressure to the scar, causing Sam to wince. “Amara told me that I gave her what she wanted most, and that she wanted to do the same for me.” He pressed harder, his nail digging into Sam's skin. “That's when she brought Mom back.”

 

Sam's gaze flickered back and forth between Dean and his hand. By now, Dean's nail had pierced the skin and a drop of blood was beginning to ooze out.

 

Mary reached for Sam's other hand again, and this time he didn't pull away. “Sammy,” she said, squeezing his hand, hard, “We're real. Don't listen to Lucifer. _We are real.”_

 

Dean kept pressing, harder and harder.  More blood leaked from the cut he was making, and the pain kept rising.

 

Lucifer flickered.

 

The Devil scowled. “You can't get rid of me forever, Sam,” he said lowly. His form flickered again. _“I will always be inside you.”_

 

He vanished.

 

Sam gasped with relief. Dean realized something had happened, and released the pressure on the scar. He look closely at Sam. Tears shone in his little brother's eyes, but so did a light that he hadn't seen for days.

 

“Sammy?”

 

Sam turned his gaze back to him. “He's gone,” he said breathlessly.

 

_Lucifer is gone._

 

_Dean and Mom are here._

 

_Lucifer was fake, Dean and Mom are real._

 

_They're real._

 

He looked down at his hands. The left was clutched in Dean's hand and the right was grasped in Mary's. He focused on the pain in his palm, and the feeling of the warmth of their skin against his. _They're real,_ he told himself again. _They're real. They're real._

 

A hopeful smile broke out on Dean's face, and he squeezed Sam’s wrist. They all sat in comfortable silence awhile, with Dean and Mary watching Sam to make sure he was really okay, and Sam just drinking in the blessed quiet, silently repeating his mantra of _they're real, they're real, they're real._

 

They were snapped out of their peaceful reverie when someone banged on the bunker door. Dean blinked and stood up. “That'll be Cas.” He jogged up the stairs to let the angel in, and quickly whispered to him what the deal was.

 

“It's getting worse—he was about to—to kill himself.” The words tasted like ash in Dean's mouth. “If we hadn't caught him . . .” he trailed off, feeling sick at the possibility. “I think we've fixed it for the moment, but I'm afraid it might kick up again. He said he wasn't even sure if we were real anymore.”

 

Cas frowned. “Take me to him.”

 

Sam looked up as Dean and Cas approached. Not for the first time, he felt a strong pang of guilt for being the reason Cas had to put the hunt for Lucifer on hold.

 

Cas went through the same procedure as before, placing his hand on Sam's forehead, who felt that same tingling sensation flood through him. Cas withdrew his hand a few seconds later with a small smile.

 

“Good news?” Dean asked hesitantly.

 

“Aside from a minuscule amount, the drug has faded away,” Cas explained. “Because of the way it was designed, the effects had spiked in an effort to redouble its hold on Sam's mind, but it seems you've broken past that. It should no longer have any effect on you.”

 

Sam let out a long breath of relief and let himself collapse back against the sofa. “Thanks, Cas,” he croaked wearily. “Sorry to drag you away from your search again.”

 

“It's not a problem. You're my friend, Sam, I'm happy to do it.”

 

That brought a smile to Sam's face.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Sam walked into the kitchen looking healthy for the first time in a week. He'd finally gotten a full night of nightmare-free rest. He grabbed a cup of coffee and joined Dean and Mary at the table.

 

“Hey,” Dean greeted. “How’re you feeling?”

 

Sam shrugged. “Good, actually. Finally got to sleep plenty last night.”

 

“Lucifer still gone?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Is Cas still here?”

 

“No. He stayed most of the night, though, keeping an eye on you. Then he got a call with a lead and had to take off. He said to tell you he was sorry for leaving so quickly.”

 

Sam nodded. He was grateful for Cas's help, but still felt guilty for being the reason he had to keep putting off the hunt for Lucifer, so he was glad Cas hadn't stuck around on his account.

 

Dean drained his coffee cup, then stood and went to put it in the sink. He made to leave the room, but stopped next to Sam. “You sure you're okay?” He asked.

 

Sam gave a small smile. “Yes, Dean, I'm fine.”

 

“Y'know, if anything happens again, don't hesitate to tell me.”

 

“I won't.”

 

“Or I'll kick your ass.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes and Dean roughly ruffled his hair before walking out the door. Annoyed, Sam ran his fingers through it to fix it, but he was grinning. “Apparently I have two moms,” he commented.

 

Mary laughed, but the smile slowly faded.

 

“What is it?” Sam asked.

 

She gazed down at the cup in her hands. “I'm still so sorry you had to go through that. Again.”

 

Sam shrugged. “It's okay. It's nothing I can't handle in the end.”

 

“I know. It's just . . . I never wanted this life for you and Dean. And I know that—I know that this is just what you _do_ now, I know you can probably never back out. And I know you probably don't even really want to at this point. But . . .” Letting out a frustrated sigh, she rose from the table to walk away a few paces and folded her arms, as of trying to hug herself. “I just _hate_ seeing you go through this.”

 

Sam also stood, and walked over to her. “Mom,” he began, but hesitated. He wasn't sure what he could say to make her feel better.

 

Mary seemed to sense this and deflated, dropping her arms and looking guilty. “I'm sorry,” she said. “You were feeling better and I'm over here ruining it with a pity party.”

 

“No, Mom, it's okay,” he said sincerely. “I understand. I know how hard this must be for you.”

 

She shook her head. “It _is_ hard. But I can't keep feeling sorry for myself. I need to . . . to deal with what's happening rather than bringing you and Dean down.”

 

She sighed, looking up at him. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up and wrapped her arms around him. Sam returned the embrace, pressing his cheek into her shoulder and letting himself float in the moment. _Mom's here. She's alive. She's real._

 

“I love you,” Mary murmured.

 

“Love you too, Mom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's the end! I hope you guys enjoyed it! I just hope I wrote Cas well. I don't usually include him in my fics because he's a difficult character to write, and I'm always afraid that he sounds wrong and out of character. But I tried really hard this time and trashed several drafts of dialogue, so I hope this was a decent end result.
> 
> Once again, I am so, so sorry for making y'all wait this long, I promise I didn't mean to! There was just a lot I had to work on and there was so much in my head that kept pouring out, but hopefully it was with worth it!
> 
> And AS ALWAYS . . . Reviews are food for a writer's soul ;)

**Author's Note:**

> More to come soon, so stay tuned!
> 
> And remember, reviews are food for a writer's soul ;)


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